


How to Amuse Oneself at Boring Parties - by Fabian Hawke

by kisssanitygoodbye, moodymarshmallow



Series: Like Attracts Like [6]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, Semi-Public Snogging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 10:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisssanitygoodbye/pseuds/kisssanitygoodbye, https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fabian knows how to have a good time, even at a party as boring as the Seneschal's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Amuse Oneself at Boring Parties - by Fabian Hawke

**Author's Note:**

> Written by kisssanitygoodbye

Dulci de Launcet talks too much. Fabian doesn’t care about the new curtains they had imported from Orlais, or her daughter’s engagement — although he does give a little inward cheer, because Mother wanted  _him_ to marry her a few years ago — and he doesn’t care about the delicious lamb he missed at the last party he didn’t attend due to “health problems”.

But since people are less likely to rat you out to the Templars if they like you, he smiles and nods and smiles and nods, even though his eyes are darting around the room, trying to find the person he’d much rather engage in conversation.

Luckily, Guillaume saves him by tugging on his wife’s sleeve and reminding her that she wanted to ask Lady Elegant where she had bought her dress,  _because_ _look at the lace, such exquisite tailoring!_

Fabian flees before any of the other nobles standing close to him can approach him, and he keeps his eyes on the ground as he walks round the buffet table to get to the fireplace, the only corner of the room that isn’t crowded, and sure enough, there’s a familiar shock of hair peeking out from one of the huge plush chairs.

He smiles as he stops behind it, reaching out a hand and laying it on Theron’s shoulder, and Theron tilts back his head, looking up at him as he leans forward a little to be able to meet his eyes.

“I see you’re doing fine,” Fabian says, chuckling. “I was afraid some ignorant noble might engage you in conversation, demanding to know where you got those  _extravagant_ tattoos from.”

“I’m good at hiding.” Theron smiles when Fabian leans down and presses his lips against his forehead, barely more than the ghost of a touch. “Mmm… how long is this going to take?”

“We can’t leave before they open the buffet, or I’ll have ten angry letters on my desk tomorrow.” Fabian’s fingers travel up to Theron’s neck, lightly massaging the spot behind one of his tapered ears, and Theron sighs softly. “I’m sorry. Or actually, I’m not, because you look bloody gorgeous.”

Asking his most trusted tailor for dark green finery might have been one of the best ideas Fabian has ever had, and he’s still grateful that Theron agreed to wear it, after a little careful persuasion. The suit fits perfectly, almost like a second skin, and even though Theron probably hasn’t noticed how it brings out the colour of his hair, Fabian surely has.

“But I have to admit, I also look forward to getting you out of these.” To underline his comment, Fabian presses his hand against Theron’s chest, touching soft silk as he travels lower, and he only stops at the waistband of his trousers, where he lingers, drawing senseless patterns on Theron’s stomach and hipbones.

“Hawke.”

Fabian smiles at the use of his last name, and he takes Theron’s hand, walking around the chair and pulling him out of it. “ _Red._ ” He laughs, leaning down and pressing his cheek against Theron’s. “Come with me.” Theron raises an eyebrow, and Fabian nods to the door next to the fireplace, his grin turning wicked. “Unless you want to give the nobles a show, of course.”

“This cannot wait until we’re home?”

“No.” He takes the shell of Theron’s ear between his fingers, rubbing it lightly until he practically purrs. “I want to kiss you.”

Theron looks at him through heavy-lidded eyes, and that is the only consent that is needed.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Fabian is on him, pressing Theron against the massive desk in the middle of the room, and it doesn’t take long until they’re nothing more than hungry mouths and roaming hands and the rustling of expensive clothing.

But Fabian should have known that he plus Theron plus dark green finery plus a semi-public place would lead to kissing not being enough, and he gives a low growl as he cups Theron through the fabric of his trousers.

“I… hnnn… thought you said that—”

“Change of plans.” Fabian grabs Theron’s hips and lifts him onto the desk, ignoring the displeased huff that quickly turns into a gasp when Fabian starts grinding against him, shoving his tongue into Theron’s mouth and pulling him closer, closer, closer…

“Maker’s breath, Hawke!”

They both freeze, and Fabian grimaces as he slowly turns his head. “Evening, Seneschal. Fabulous party you’re having.” He can hear Theron snort quietly. “Thank you so much for the invitation.”

The vein at Seneschal Bran’s temple is pulsing dangerously, and Fabian braces himself for an hour-long sermon, but instead there’s only eye-rolling. “I won’t even bother. My words would be lost on you anyway. Just… just get out of my office. The buffet is about to be opened.”

“Coming.”

“Please, not in here.”

And then the door closes behind him again, leaving a laughing Fabian and a blushing Theron to adjust their clothes and calm their racing hearts.

Fabian steps away from the desk so Theron can jump down, and he can’t help but touch the flushed tips of his ears and lean down to press another light kiss against his lips. “Did Bran just… make a joke?”

“I think he did, yes.”

“Alright, now it’s settled. From now on, we’re going to do this at every single party. Maybe he’ll start behaving like a normal person after a while.”

Theron sighs. “Hawke.”

“Sorry. Shutting up now.”

“Good.” But Theron is smiling as he raises himself on tiptoes to brush his lips against Fabian’s jaw, lightly flicking his tongue against his skin. “Hmm… we’re going home in a few minutes, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”


End file.
